


Calendar's For Charity

by DocDimebag



Series: A Song of Icees and Flaming Hot Cheetos [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, crack!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5167013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DocDimebag/pseuds/DocDimebag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...or that one time Stannis found these calendars and began to eat his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calendar's For Charity

**Author's Note:**

> This is for My Person. I make no apologies for what you are about to read.

It was half past 9 o’clock on Monday morning when Davos pushed backward through the front doors into the Southern Precinct of the Westeros County Police Station. His cigarette butt smouldered in the near empty ashtray by the front doors and in his arms he held a pale pink pastry box stamped with the logo of a steaming pie and closed with a small piece of cello tape. On top of the box he balanced a brown paper bag of bagels. 

His worn boots scuffed silently on the linoleum floors as he made his way down familiar hallways to the bullpen where his desk was. He pulled his rolling chair from beneath it and set the warm breakfast goods on the seat before absently flipping through a rather large stack of mail. He was the Deputy Chief of Police, his desk situated directly in front of the large and much feared office of Police Chief Stannis Baratheon. He’d been an office for years, worked hard his entire career and his appointment to such a high position wasn’t taken kindly by many but Stannis would have it no other way, so that was the way that it was. 

He sorted through letters, large manila folders, case files, making stacks of what went where, until he came to one piece that was far more rigid than the others, almost like a piece of cardboard covered in a thin film of plastic. He pulled it from beneath a small pile of court summons and found himself chuckling out loud. 

“What is it you find so funny this early in the week then?” Stannis asked from behind him, his silent arrival making Davos’s heart skip a beat in surprise. 

“Good morning sir. I brought donuts and a dozen bagels from Hot Pie’s. They’re still warm.”

“Of course you did. It wouldn’t be a Monday without you bringing in empty sugar and feeding it to the men like it’s filet. Now what is it that you’ve got there?”

Davos looked back at what he had found so amusing in the mail pile in the first place. 

“Oh it’s nothing sir. It’s just that the annual Firemen’s calendar just came in the mail. I don’t remember ordering so many of them though--” Davos trailed off as he pulled the plastic off of the cardboard. Inside there were at least half a dozen copies of a standard 12 month calendar, each month portrayed by a different local firemen. 

“Oh, are those my calendars?” a light voice chimed in from across the desk. Melisandre wasn’t exactly part of the police force, but neither was she strictly an office paper pusher either. Stannis had come to value her insight and opinions, sometimes a little too much for Davos’ comfort. She reached across his desk and slipped one of the calendars from his hands. 

“Was it really necessary to buy six of them?” Davos asked and Melisandre just smiled. 

“It’s for a good cause, Davos. Why on Earth wouldn’t I want to support our local heros. Especially when they prove to be so pleasant on the eyes as well?” She flipped through the glossy pages until one caught her eye, then turned it toward both Davos and Stannis. 

The month was June and the picture was of young Jon Snow. He stood in the dim lighting of the fire station in nothing but his heavy flame retardant pants and boots, suspenders hanging slack on either side of his hips. He had been looking down, muscled arms hung at his sides, but his eyes looked up through his thick lashed at the photographer similar to that of a puppy. 

‘Or the way my sons look at me when they want to borrow the car late on a school night’ Davos thought to himself. He himself found the image ridiculous, bordering on hilarious. The first thing that came to mind was practicality; no one fought fires half naked. The second thought was that his wife would probably very much like this calendar as well, so he had to make sure she never found them or else he’d never see (or hear) the end of it. It was hard enough to remain married for 24 years, he didn’t need to add the competition of young men slicked up in baby oil and rippling with unnecessary muscles. 

“Why on Earth people concern themselves with such useless and ridiculous things I have no idea.” Stannis snapped. There was an edge to his voice, an irritation that usually took longer to build. “If Jon Snow wants to parade around the county greased up like...like some stripper-” he seemed to trip over the word “then he is welcome to it. It’s no skin off of my nose.”

Stannis turned on his heel sharply and turned back toward his office. He paused for a brief moment, as if considering, and finally flipped the lid of the pink donut box open and snatched the first greasy pastry he saw, cramming it half way into his mouth on the first bite as he strode back to his office with purpose and an overwhelming air of ‘I don’t care’. 

“You know, you really shouldn’t poke him like that. His blood pressure is high enough as it is.” Davos said to Melisandre and she smiled. 

That was the first time Stannis had ever indulged himself in an early Monday morning donut.


End file.
